


Ante Meridiem

by writellings



Series: Temper Temper [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Forced Vomiting, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, RoyEd Week, Vomiting, mentions of drug use, royedweek, unedited mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writellings/pseuds/writellings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe if he found a way to shelter himself from the pictures, he would be okay... Right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ante Meridiem

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is mostly unedited, but I hope you'll like it anyway. Written for day 3 of royed week on Tumblr. Prompt was angst or happines - guess which one I chose? This is a sequel to [Post Mediam Noctem](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3689010) but can be read seperately.

* * *

****

20...He counted the holes in the ceiling once; there were 421 in total.

21... He counts them one more time, just to be sure.

25...Maybe if he tried reading for a while, the pictures in his mind would be replaced by alchemical theories.

26... He still hears the screaming in his head, even after covering his face with a pillow and forcing his eyes to say open and coercing himself to avert his thoughts to something else. Anything.

30... He still sees the blood and the ashes and the nothingess; still smells the death in his lungs; still feels the darkness grabbing and pulling at him.

34... Maybe he needs some help after all.

 

 

 

 

Edward had never been one to ask for help, even when he knew he needed it. He had never been one to show his vulnerabilities to anyone. But ever since he and Roy got together, he allowed his shell to crack, little by little, in certain places, and he had let Roy in. And Roy had been more than happy to show the younger man that there was nothing to fear - he had offered advice and a shoulder to cry on and sometimes even played the role of a punching bag.

Roy knew, even before the two started sharing a bed, that Ed rarely slept through the night. Roy knew, even though Edward had never said anything, that the Alchemist of the People was most frighened of the dark, when there was no one to reach for and no one there to hold the shadows away. Roy knew, without having been told, that Edward always woke up a crying, trembling mess at aproximately the same time evey night. He also knew how to ease the wrinkles out of his brow and wipe away his tears for the night.

It was an unsaid promise that he would always take care of Edward. There was whispered gratitude in the way Edward's breathing eased and evened out when Roy held him.

So when Roy woke up at 3:58 AM  to an empty bed and a pillow gone cold, he fought against the hurt in his chest, until it grew into a deep, bitter feeling of worry. He threw the sheets over his feet and stumbled out of the bed, halfstaggering-half running to the door and down the stairs.

Edward was sitting on the floor beside the couch, slumped over the low coffee table. His forehead was pressed against the wooden surface where it wasn't covered in papers, and his hands were resting on the back of his neck, fingers intertwined. Roy approached him almost carefully,  as if he didn't want to disrupt the unsettling sight. He crouched down  beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Edward?" he whispered.

Edward snapped his head upright, as though he had only just realized he wasn't alone, but he didn't look at Roy.

"Are you alright?" the silence between them was thick and somehow threatening. Roy could see Edward shaking - wether from crying or from cold - and his complection was ghastly pale. He took Ed's chin  between his fingers and turned his face towards himself - the younger man's brow was covered in cold sweat and his eyes were huge and watery and scared, and somewise paler than usual. "Are you sick?" Roy asked as a throbing feeling settles in his stomach.

Edward shook his head. "I-" he started weakly; Roy's eyes flew open as Edward's breath his his face - sick and bitter and gross. "I couldn't sleep." his words were sluggish and almost soundless.

"What did you do?" Roy could feel the misplaced anger building up in his chest, along with the creeping fear of Edward's answer.

"I took some pills to help me sleep," only after Edward's words died down Roy realized he'd been holding his breath for a whole moment.

"How many did you take?" he could hear his words starting to lose meaning; he could see the tears and apology in Edward's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Edward croaked, and his tears fell freely.

"How many, Edward?!" it felt unnatural to yell at this hour, but Roy's heart was racing to fast for his body to keep up and his palms were sweating. Edward shut his eyes and shoved his head in his hands. Roy wanted to hit him.

"I dont know. A lot," he cried.

"What were you _trying_ to do?" Roy felt physically sick. Edward's continuous silence was answer enough. He stood up suddenly, dragging Edward up with him. He didn't say another word, just focused on keeping himself upright as he pulled on the boy's arm.

"Please! I'm sorry!" he barely registered Ed's crying behind him through the humming in his ears. They reached the bathroom after what seemed like eternity but was really only a few moments. Roy all but threw Ed in front of the toilet and knelt beside him. "Roy... Please, I didn't mean-"

"Hold still," Roy cut him off."You need to vomit." fear creeped into Edward's eyes, but vanished almost instantly. "I'm going to put my fingers down your throat to stimulate your gag reflex. I need you to hold _very_ still, can you do that?"

Edward nodded slightly, opening his mouth to allow Roy's fingers access. It took him a few tries, and Edward was crying again - persumably with discomfort - but when he finally reached all the way down Ed's throat at touched his uvula, Edward gagged around his fingers and started throwing up. Roy barely pulled his fihngers out in time to prevent Ed to puke all over them. The boy's chin and the front of his shirt were covered in his vomit, as was the majority of the toilet seat; the small bathroom reeked of pills.

When Edward was done, he leaned with his whole body against the toilet. Roy pulled softly at his shoulders, turning him around and washing off the remainders of vomit from his face with a wet tovel.

"I'm sorry," Edward whispered brokenly as Roy stroked his chin and chest, cleaning him up.

"I know," Roy put the towel away and cupped Edward's face in his hands. "Don't ever do that to me again, you little brat," Edward's smile was pale and small.

"I'm so sorry, Roy. I..." Roy pulled him into his arms, stroking his hair and back and whispering his own apologies into Ed's ear. Edward continued his mantra of 'I'm sorrys' for a while still.

When his tears dried out somewhat, and Roy's heart beat normally again, he whispered:

"I do love you, you know. Maybe not the way I'm supposed to, or the way you deserve, but the only way I know how. I'm sorry that it's such a crappy way."

"I know you're doing the best you can. And that's more than enough for me." Roy said.

With a feint sigh, Edward fell into his arms, and they stayed like that until the early sun broke through the window, holding onto each other – because that was enough.


End file.
